How to Take the Ex Out of Ex-Boyfriend (17 page)

And I'm not just saying this because I'm bitter that I had to trace the letters off of stencils to write, “Dante Is Our Man. Vote For El Pres-i-Dante,” like, twenty times. And yes, we did steal the term “pres-i-Dante” from our drunk party guests. It was catchier than anything we could come up with on our own.

So anyway, I was on the top of a ladder taping up posters when Bridget strolled by. She shot me one of her rodeo queen smiles. “I heard you had quite a party on Saturday.”

I ripped off a piece of masking tape and marveled at the fact that Bridget had been able to find anyone who actually went to our party in order to talk to them about it. “Yeah,” I said.

“I hear Rich, Brett, and Shane got smashed at your house.”

My stomach lurched. “No, actually they arrived that way.”

“That's not the way I heard it. Did you really go out partying with them afterward and get arrested?”

This is not something you should say to a person who's standing on the top of a ladder. I came dangerously close to toppling off. As I grasped onto the top rung, I sputtered out, “No, that didn't happen.”

“The police didn't pull you over while you were speeding around downtown in Shane's car?”

“Well yeah, but we weren't partying, and we didn't get arrested. At least I didn't.”

She shrugged her shoulders and blinked up at me. “See, that's what I mean. Nothing that exciting happened at our party—well, except for when you all came by and threw a bottle at Wilson's house.”

I held onto the ladder tighter, too shocked by the speed of the rumors to care that she was still smiling up at me. “I didn't throw that bottle. I had nothing to do with it.” Well, except driving the getaway car.

“Right.” As she turned away, she gave me a last triumphant look over her shoulder. “Good luck with your campaign. Hopefully from now on you'll be able to convince your followers to keep their pants up.”

And that was just the start of the day. By lunchtime I'd heard several versions of my wild night with Rich, Brett, and Shane. In some of them I was drunk, in some I mooned people. In all of them I had hauled my party guests over to Wilson's house in an attempt to vandalize the place.

Charity and Raine, I would like to add, didn't figure anywhere in these stories. Don't get me wrong, I'm glad their names weren't dragged down with mine into the tawdry world of drinking/mooning/vandalizing, but still I wondered why.

Was it because they were so good no one would believe they'd been involved with all of that, but me—the Frog Avenger—well, it was easy to think that I'd been doing all three things simultaneously?

Or maybe someone had it out for me. And if so, who? Jesse and Luke were the only ones that knew about the whole mooning thing. Luke might have told Bridget about it—that is, if he had managed to peel her away from Jesse's side for long enough to have a conversation with her. Could Jesse be the one who told Bridget all those outrageous stories?

The thought made my heart thud into my rib cage.

When I walked into English class, Wilson was sitting on a girl's desk at the front of the room fulfilling his daily quota of flirting. He ignored me, as usual, which for once I appreciated. I dropped my books on my desk with a thud and slid into my seat. Bill glanced over at me and nodded a hello, then went back to working on his homework. Jesse leaned back in his chair, watching me, and in his slowest drawl, said, “So are you talking to me today, or are you still pretending you can't see me?”

I had the urge to gaze past him and mutter, “Bill, did you hear something?” Instead I glared at Jesse. “I see you.”

The muscles flexed in his jaw, making him look suddenly dangerous. “Good. Because I want to hear the explanation from your own lips. What were you doing riding around with a bunch of hoodlums Saturday night, and why were you chucking things at Wilson's house? Was that your idea of revenge or something?”

I leaned around Bill to get a better view of Jesse. “If I wanted to take revenge on Wilson, don't you think I could come up with a better plan than, say, throwing an empty bottle at his driveway?”

Jesse leaned toward my desk, his blue eyes smoldering. “I don't know. Nothing you do makes sense anymore.”

“Nothing I do? When did you drag your attention away from Bridget long enough to pay attention to anything I've done?”

Bill put his book down on his desk. “Do you want to switch places with me? I'll let you have my seat.”

“I pay attention to what you're doing,” Jesse said. “And the last thing I noticed you doing was driving around like a maniac while three guys made butt-prints on the car windows. I noticed that, Giovanna.”

The mention stung, and I felt my face flush. “Yeah, while we're talking about Saturday night, who told the entire student body the mooning story?”

“I didn't tell anyone.”

Bill's gaze swung to Jesse and then to me. “You know, they have counselors to help people work through these things.”

I leaned over until I was touching Bill's desk. “Well, only you and Luke saw the mooning, but bright and early this morning Bridget was sure to rub it in. She must have found out somehow.”

“And so you just assume it was me and not Luke.”

Bill tapped his fingers against his desk and looked straight ahead. “Conflict resolution. That's what they call it. They probably have a twelve-step program or something.”

“Yeah, I assume you told Bridget. She's been standing so close to you she can probably hear your neurons fire, let alone listen to every word you speak.”

There was a glint of a smile in Jesse's eyes, as though he'd won a point of contention. “You keep bringing up Bridget. Why is that?”

I shrugged. “Would you like the long or the abridged version of all the things that are wrong with her?”

More tapping from Bill's desk. “Maybe it's not too late to transfer into World History. Of course, I'll be behind, and probably have to do hours of homework to catch up, but that's a small price to pay.”

Jesse's expression turned serious. I couldn't have pulled my gaze away if I'd tried. In a lower voice he said, “The only one I told about last night was Wilson, and that's because I thought he had a right to know who was flinging things at his house.”

“Then Wilson sure told a lot of people.” Which, I realized as soon as I said it, was the truth. Of course Wilson had told everyone. I'd given him the perfect ammunition to use against Dante.

I glanced over at Wilson. He was now talking with two girls up in the front of the room and smiling at both simultaneously. He'd come off as the victim in this whole affair, while Dante and I looked like some low-class thugs who used mooning drunks to vandalize his opponent's party.

Mrs. Pembroke stood up from her desk carrying a piece of paper. She raised one hand to get our attention, and the individual conversations among the students died away. “Well, class, I received another rejection letter.”

She held up the paper for our examination, then walked over and stapled the letter to the bulletin board. I watched her numbly. Pretty soon she'd need more room. It takes a pretty big space to handle all of that rejection.

On the way to lunch I talked with Charity to find out how much trouble she'd gotten in. She said her parents understood, but she sighed a lot while she told me this, so I knew they hadn't been happy with her. “From now on I'm supposed to avoid the very appearance of evil,” she said. “And I'm supposed to call them if anyone I know needs a ride home.”

I didn't ask her if that whole appearance-of-evil thing applied to coming to my house. I mean, Gabby and Dante lived there, and both of them often appeared to be evil.

But hopefully the whole thing would blow over soon. Well, you know, after the kids at school stopped yelling, “Hey Giovanna, can you give me ride? I've got some stuff I want to throw at Wilson's house!”

At the end of the day Daphne drove me home. She talked cheerfully about her summer plans, and I was happy to let her rattle on because it meant I didn't have to think of many upbeat responses. Just before she pulled into my driveway, she said, “I found you a date for Thursday night.”

I stared at her, trying to figure out what she meant. Denying rumors had taken up such a large portion of my day that I'd completely forgotten about everything else.

“It wasn't easy, either,” she went on. “First I had to slyly find out from Luke where Wilson is holding his campaign meetings. I'd hoped he would have some of them at the club, because that is so Wilson's style, but most of them are before school in the library. Well, you can't very well bring some hot A-list Swain guy to the library in the morning. That wouldn't work.”

“Oh, right.” The reference finally clicked, and I remembered our conversation about A-list people, and how I was supposed to pretend to be one—which at this point was obviously hopeless. “Thursday night?”

“Right. Wilson is taking everyone who worked on his campaign out to dinner at five thirty at La Comida Ranchera. You know, sort of a thank-you dinner before election day. Which means Jesse will be there.” Her voice was thick with implications. “Which means you should stroll in with Buddy around about five forty-five.”

“Buddy?”

“That's just his nickname, because he's a really good singer and likes to sing Buddy Holly songs. Actually his name is Horton—and I know, that sounds like a geeky name, but he's named after his daddy. It's one of those family names that goes back for so many generations you're required to stick it on one of your kids.” She shot me a conspiratorial smile. “But don't worry, he's gorgeous. Absolutely guaranteed to make any ex-boyfriend swell with jealousy.”

I shifted my backpack on my lap so I was half hugging it. “You found a date for me? You did that already?”

She shrugged. “I know—I'm amazing. I had planned on waiting a little while—until the whole pool table thing blew over, but then after Raine told me about Saturday night, well, I figured it was only going to get harder to find you a man. So I called up Buddy Remington and explained the situation to him. It took a little begging on my part, but he finally agreed to play the part of the studly new rival.”

“You told him all of it? He knows I'm just using him to make Jesse jealous?”

She blinked at me. “Well, I had to tell him.”

I didn't want to imagine that conversation and how utterly pathetic I had sounded in it.

Daphne: Hi, Buddy, I have this friend who I'm trying to set up—

Buddy: I'm busy that night.

Daphne: I haven't told you what night.

Buddy: If she's not capable of getting a date on her own, then I'm busy.

Daphne (
because Daphne is delusional when it comes to her friends
): Giovanna is gorgeous, smart, and nice—everything anyone would want, but, well, she sort of has this criminal past, and there have been a few incidents lately where she appeared to be partially insane, but we're trying to find someone who'll make her ex-boyfriend jealous.

Buddy: Guess what—I'm still busy.

Daphne: I'll pay you.

I was just imagining the monetary negotiations when Daphne broke into my thoughts. “We'll get your hair done and go clothes shopping sometime beforehand, okay?”

“Okay,” I said, because you can't turn down a friend who pays large sums to guys in order to get them to take you out. I trudged into my house, fingering my hair, and wondered how I had gotten myself into this.

I mean, Jesse and I had just fought. Again. I really didn't think that if I showed up with a guy, no matter how studly, it was going to make Jesse want me back. More likely Jesse would walk up to Buddy and offer him condolences.

But somehow I still had a date with a guy, a scenario to act out, and a pending haircut.

I mulled it over in my mind, looking for an excuse to cancel, or the conviction to see it through. On one hand, Charity had told me I should talk with Jesse. But then Charity had never gone out on a date. Not even once. The guy she currently liked was my brother—which meant right off there was something wrong with her reasoning ability. Plus, Dante had no clue she liked him, which really didn't encourage me to trust her methods when it came to guys.

Daphne, on the other hand, thought I should show up with Buddy and this would help me get Jesse back. She'd been out with the equivalent of a small platoon and had men dangling from her fingertips.

So probably I should trust Daphne about this.

I walked inside and dialed my grandmother's number to set up a time to go to her house on Thursday. It wouldn't be too hard to convince Dad and Gabby to let me go. Thursday's not a big date night, so it shouldn't even raise their suspicions. Grandma didn't answer—a lot of times she takes naps during the middle of the day and turns off the phone—so I left a message. I waited for her to call back, but while I did, I kept hearing Jesse's voice in my mind saying, “You know Daphne's judgment isn't the best.”

Chapter
13

M
aybe Dante is right about me. I'm too emotional, and when I'm upset, I overreact and then regret it later. When Grandma called back after dinner, she asked me, “How was your day?”

I thought about the rumors, and how Wilson was bound to win the election, and how Jesse and I had fought in English, and with the phone still pressed to my cheek, I burst into tears.

Grandma said, “
Bellissima,
what's wrong? It's that woman again, isn't it? What has she done now?”

And then I had to tell her that no, surprisingly it wasn't Gabby this time. I didn't want to tell my grandma about the whole mooning incident, or that her grandson wasn't popular enough to win the school election, so I told her I felt awful because I'd broken up with Jesse. All my dates since then had been horrible, and I was obviously destined to end up as one of those old spinsters who lived with twenty cats and did crossword puzzles all day. Also I'd just realized that Dante was right about me, and I was way too emotional, but I couldn't help it, and how could I go to school tomorrow knowing I was too emotional, and I would probably do something to humiliate myself in English class?